


lately i feel like i've been losing (my mind)

by ToAStranger



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alpha Billy Hargrove, Alpha Steve Harrington, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Billy Hargrove Lives, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Sex is the coping mechanism, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, it's sex, probably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22744441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: Billy hasn't felt right since the summer straight out of a horror movie.  His instincts are all off.  And Steve Harrington keeps looking at him.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 23
Kudos: 490





	lately i feel like i've been losing (my mind)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ImNeitherNor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImNeitherNor/gifts).



> Oof. This took like 3 hours of off and on writing, and I'm not sure if I'm happy with it, but here it be. 
> 
> I'm a little out of touch with my Harringrove/Stranger Things vibes-- I've been dipping back into HP and Marvel, so I'm all wonky. Hopefully it's not too awful! I did ZERO editing!
> 
> For the lovely Nor! Thank you for the t-shirt.

Billy doesn’t like the way that Harrington keeps looking at him. 

It’s not new, not really, the way Harrington’s eyes track him. Follow him. Keep him in his periphery at all times. 

At first, Billy assumed it was because he’d beat his face in that one time. Back before everything got totally twisted and turned upside down and inside out. Before  _ he  _ got all twisted and turned upside down and inside out. Billy couldn’t blame him-- Billy’s always been a predator surrounded by prey and Harrington has been intimately acquainted with his rage. It made sense that Harrington would keep his eyes on him after something like that. 

Then, after the mall and the monsters and Billy waking up in a hospital bed with more questions than answers, it made sense that Harrington would keep a keen kind of eye on him-- like a watchdog, waiting to see if Billy would make a wrong move, especially around the kids that seemed to flock to Harrington’s side like lost little ducklings. 

But now, even months after long days of physical therapy and longer nights of nightmares, Harrington  _ watches him.  _

Follows him with the dark slant of his eyes, too big and too kind to be any kind of intimidating, but with something burning buried in their depths that Billy’s only glimpsed in flashes and moments-- in the Byers’ kitchen, on the basketball court, through the fractured windshield of a car on fire-- that makes Billy’s hair  _ stand on end.  _ Makes him want to bare his teeth a snarl, like a cornered animal. Like Billy isn’t the predator anymore-- but Harrington  _ is.  _

He hates it. Hates it even on the days he spends hiding out at Harrington’s, with Max and her dumb friends taking up too much space and making too much noise. Hates it on the evenings when Harrington passes him a beer or a cigarette, feet dangling in an empty pool, a tight smile on both of their mouths that never quite reaches their eyes. 

Hates it even more, right now, as Harrington catches the moment that the kids’ noise becomes too much. Catches it, eyes narrowing a little and head tilting, like he’s trying to figure out if Billy’s about to go from  _ non threat  _ to  _ threat _ while sitting on his couch and sipping at a bottle of pop. 

It doesn’t help that every time--  _ every time--  _ Billy finds himself at Harrington’s place, he feels a little bit like he’s walked into someone else’s territory. Something that never used to bother him-- the Alpha among alphas, strong and durable and unrelenting-- like getting in another alpha’s face or traipsing into territory that obviously smelled like someone else’s never used to bother him-- but that was, well,  _ before.  _

Before his body got hijacked by a freaky monster from another dimension. Before he let himself get skewered to save a little girl’s life. Before his own body started to betray him-- instincts haywire, ready to go on alert at the littlest things, and not responding right when they were  _ supposed to.  _

So, sitting there, with Harrington staring at him like that in a territory that is  _ rank  _ with Harrington’s scent, it makes his hackles raise. Makes him bare his teeth at Harrington. 

“What?” he snaps. 

Harrington just blinks at him, slow, head still tilted like Billy’s a particularly interesting puzzle. 

“What the fuck are you looking at, Harrington?” Billy’s hand tightens around the bottle his hand, shoulders bunching. 

Usually, he’d bite back a bit of his vitriol. Swallow it down and bare it with what little grace he has these days. But Max isn’t paying him any mind, too busy playing some dumb game with her friends, so Billy doesn’t feel too bad for letting himself bristle when he’d usually try and play it cool.

Harrington doesn’t do much more than smile-- an almost eerie, serene kind of tilt to his mouth that Billy’s gaze is inevitably drawn to the same way that he’s been drawn to Harrington since he first set sights on him in this stupid little town-- before he reaches over and pats the chick that’s always hanging around these days, Robin, on the shoulder. 

“Watch the losers?” he asks, voice low. “I’m gonna hit the stash in my room.” 

Robin snorts and waves a hand. “Whatever. Don’t break anything.” 

“It’s my house,” Harrington insists, without any heat, but then his eyes are back on Billy’s and he’s jerking his chin toward the foyer in silent demand. 

He doesn’t even fucking wait for Billy to get up and agree. Doesn’t wait to see if Billy will even follow. 

It’s enough that Billy very nearly  _ doesn’t.  _

But an invitation up into  _ King Steve’s  _ room for a bit of bud? Hard to deny. 

Climbing to his feet, Billy follows after him. Tracks the scent of the other alpha through the house and sight of Steve Harrington’s back easily. Like second nature. Like a predator stalking prey. 

It’s only when they get to Harrington’s room, the scent of him heavy and  _ everywhere,  _ that Billy realizes his mistake. The door is shut softly behind him. A lock clicks into place. Harrington shuffles over to his desk, pulls a drawer open, and pulls out a baggy with a couple of joints rolled up in it. Plucks one out and leans back against his desk, lighting up the end with a lighter he pulls from his pocket, and  _ watches Billy _ as he blows out smoke.

That familiar burning is in Harrington’s eyes. And it’s enough for Billy to realize that he isn’t the predator, here, trapped in Harrington’s room. He’s the  _ prey.  _

“So,” Harrington says, holding out the joint with a lazy arm, the other crossed easily over his chest as he stays leaning against the edge of his desk,  _ forcing  _ Billy to draw closer if he wants to get anything more than awkward conversation. “You seem on edge today.” 

Billy rolls his eyes, padding over and snatching the joint away. 

“Well,” Harrington’s mouth twitches into that damning, knowing, serene little smile again. “More on edge than usual.” 

“What the fuck do you know about it?” Billy asks around the joint, dragging hard and breathing out slow. 

Harrington doesn’t move. Just stares. Those dark eyes burning and digging and burrowing under Billy’s skin. 

“You know, when all this shit first started happening,” Harrington waves a general hand, like it encompasses all of the things none of them usually talk about outside of the safety of dark rooms and hushed whispers, and Billy guesses it kind of does. “It really messed me up. Nightmares, panic attacks, you know. All sorts of shit.” 

Billy snorts. His smile, when he offers it, isn’t kind. 

“And?” 

“And,” Harrington shrugs. “I figure the shit you went through? Probably worse.” 

Billy sneers, holding the joint back to Harrington, proud that his hands don’t shake.  _ “And?”  _

Harrington’s smile goes a little wider, his eyes a little darker, and then he’s got his fingers over Billy’s as he takes the joint back. “It probably messed you up pretty bad, too.” 

Billy hopes Harrington gets to a point sometime soon. Shifts on his feet. Crosses his arms. 

In a cloud of smoke, with a smile that’s just as hard as Billy’s, Harrington hums and nods like Billy’s quiet has just confirmed something. Billy braces himself for some stupid shit. 

It still doesn’t prepare him for the way Harrington pins him in place with his stare and asks: 

“So, when was your last rut?” 

Billy’s tongue feels suddenly too big for his mouth. He nearly chokes on it. On the disgruntled sound he wants to make. On the anger and then the swift fear that wells up in his chest. 

“Excuse me?” Billy asks, and he’d be ashamed of the way his voice wavers if it weren’t for the ringing in his ears drowning it out. 

“Your last rut,” Harrington says, a little slow, setting the joint down in the ashtray on his desk and pushing away from the desk to eat up the little space between them in an easy step. “When was it?” 

“That’s none of your fucking business--” 

“I didn’t get one for six months after the tunnels, after that night you beat my face in,” Harrington cuts him off, his toes bumping Billy’s, standing so close that he can smell the dank, sweet scent of weed still clinging to him-- and the smell of  _ alpha  _ underneath that. “And it didn’t come easy. Instincts went all haywire-- had to ask for some help.” 

Billy’s upper lip curls, disdain written on his face, even as the skin of his arm raises with the shiver that works its way through him, unbidden and unwelcome. “Had to go groveling to Wheeler?” 

“Nah,” Harrington’s smile goes wide. “Didn’t go to Nancy. Had to go to another alpha.” 

Billy wants to ask. Wants to  _ know.  _ Wants to dig between all the words that Harrington isn’t saying, all the things he’s quietly implying, until he’s got some kind of  _ truth.  _ Wants to know  _ what alpha--  _

But Harrington doesn’t let him. Just presses a little closer, until that bare inch of height he’s got on Billy is more apparent than ever, hands casually at his sides. Billy’s shoulders draw up. His breath stalls somewhere in his throat. He feels suddenly hot, all over, and doesn’t know if he wants to deck Harrington or kiss him. 

“Everything was all fucked up,” Harrington tells him, dark eyes hunting over Billy’s face. “Didn’t know which way was up-- fight or flight, friend or foe. My instincts didn’t know whether to stand my ground and bare my teeth,” Billy twitches as fingertips ghost against his arm, soft as can be, and his body stalls between jerking away and leaning into that touch. “Or to submit.” 

Billy scoffs. “Don’t imagine you’d have any trouble submitting.” 

Harrington’s smile dimples his right cheek; his hand wraps around Billy’s bicep. “You’d be surprised.” 

And then, slow as can be, like Billy’s some kind of skittish colt ready to bolt right out the door, Harrington raises his other hand and curls it around the back of his neck. Squeezes. Watches Billy-- always fucking  _ watching him-- _ with those dark eyes, as he scruffs him, like a fucking Pack Alpha, hand steady and sure at Billy’s nape. 

“Or maybe you wouldn’t be,” Harrington adds, something like amusement on his face when Billy’s body nearly  _ vibrates  _ with the contrasting needs, head telling him two things at once, pulling him in two different directions-- fight or submit. “Easy. Take a breath.” 

Billy sucks in sharp, chest tight, and then lets it out again as he glares up at Harrington. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Harrington?” 

“Helping,” Harrington says. “Unless you wanna keep feeling like you’re gonna split in two.” 

Billy nearly snarls that he  _ doesn’t.  _ That Harrington has  _ no idea _ what the fuck he’s feeling. 

But then Harrington squeezes again, a little tighter. Thumb dragging below Billy’s ear. Gaze earnest and unwavering on Billy’s own. 

Billy clears his throat. “And how exactly are you gonna  _ help,  _ huh, pretty boy?” 

Harrington’s smile goes decidedly wicked. Billy’s pretty sure he’s had wet dreams like this, before all of the nightmares. 

“Feel free to stop me at any time,” Harrington says. 

It’s the only warning he gets. 

The next thing he knows is that Harrington has him pinned back against the edge of his desk and has his mouth on Billy’s. The next thing he knows is the way Harrington tastes, their tongues meeting somewhere in the middle. The next thing he knows is Harrington has one hand down the front of Billy’s pants, the other still gripping the back of his neck, and there’s heat licking up Billy’s spine as he arches into him and claws at his shoulders to get him closer. 

Harrington keeps him like that for a while. Feeding him kisses and keeping him still, subdued, pinned down under his touch and the warmth of his body. Holding him steady as he strains into his touch. Palming over his dick with furtive movements that have Billy’s head  _ spinning.  _

Keeps him like that until Billy is bucking into his hand. Until Billy is panting against his mouth. Until Billy stops trying to gain any ground and just takes what he’s given. Until Billy gasps a breathy, wanting, damning  _ Steve _ against Harrington’s mouth. 

Then, he’s pushing and pulling Billy around, until the edge of the desk digs painfully into the jut of his hipbones. Then, he’s pulling at his hair and angling Billy’s head over-- and Billy  _ lets him _ \-- to mouth and bite and lick at his throat. Then, he’s fishing into Billy’s underwear to pull his cock free and stroking over him, the dry friction making Billy hiss as Harrington  _ laughs.  _

“Easy,” he breathes against his ear. “You ever do this before?” 

“Yeah,” Billy croaks. 

And he has. He’s had his fair share of tumbles in bed-- with and without alphas, taking and giving in equal measure-- but his body is screaming at him, right now, that  _ this  _ is what he needs. His head doesn’t fucking get it, but his body doesn’t  _ care.  _

And, honestly, Billy’s kind of wanted this since he spotted Harrington at that stupid Halloween party so long ago.  _ Definitely  _ wanted it since he saw him, sweaty and flush, in the showers of the boy’s locker room. 

“Good,” Harrington says, succinct, and then he’s got Billy’s pants down around his knees, there’s a  _ pop  _ of sound, there’s slick fingers sliding up behind his balls; Billy shudders and chokes on a sound.  _ “Easy.  _ I got you. Just give in. Relax. Follow your instincts.” 

The primal part of his brain that Billy’s been ignoring since all the shit during the summer happened seems to  _ thrum.  _ Pleased and warming and practically  _ purring  _ as he  _ lets  _ Harrington take the lead. 

He doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get how this is supposed to  _ help him _ \-- but he can’t deny that his head feels more clear than it has in  _ months.  _

Then, there are deft fingers pressing into him. The sound he makes, knots upon knots coming loose in his chest, is too loud. Harrington’s hand finds his mouth, covering it and gripping his jaw as he preps him with steady, sure strokes. Billy groans against his palm, hands splaying out over Harrington’s desk and knocking something down. He presses back onto Harrington’s fingers, unashamed, even when Harrington hides a moan against the side of his throat. 

Their movements are feverish and quick. Billy needs it and Harrington is feeding into his needs as smoothly, as quickly as he can. Meeting Billy where he stands, body speaking more for him than Billy could ever form in proper words. 

It’s not long before Harrington is  _ in him.  _ Not long before Billy feels his body yield and then fold, give completely in to the rush of it all, as Harrington ruts steadily into him. Not long before Billy’s eyes are rolling back as Harrington takes and fucks and  _ forces him  _ into a pliancy he didn’t think he was capable of anymore. 

Harrington doesn’t pull any punches, despite the house full of children downstairs. Doesn’t go easy, hips moving steady, fucking in deep and hard and smooth. Keeps his hand over Billy’s mouth, muffling his own groans against that soft spot below his left ear, a hint of teeth and the heady sound of his heavy breath enough to make that  _ full  _ feeling send Billy’s head skittering off into a pleasant, hazy place he doesn’t think he’s ever  _ known.  _

Then, Harrington has his hand on Billy’s cock again. Strokes him off in time with the jarring drive of his hips, fingers slippery and warm, pulling Billy closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. 

It doesn’t take much more than that. A few well-angled thrusts. A squeeze at the base of his dick. A tongue licking at the salt of sweat on his throat. 

Billy feels himself break to pieces, spilling out, knot filling Harrington’s palm as he  _ squeezes  _ and gives him something to rut into. It would be embarrassing, knotting while half bent over Harrington’s desk with a dick up his ass, but it just feels  _ good.  _

Billy moans and curses against Harrington’s palm. Bucks and jerks through it, spasming, hands coming to clutch at Harrington’s wrists as he rides it out. 

It’s only when the haze finally settles back down again-- his knot softening as his cock does-- that Harrington withdraws. Pulls back, hands moving to shove Billy’s shirt up his back, and Billy realizes in a daze that the wet heat that dribbles over his lower back and his ass is Harrington’s own release. 

_ “Fuck,”  _ Harrington breathes, forehead thunking against the back of Billy’s shoulder. 

Billy-- Billy can’t help but laugh. Swimming and blissed in his own euphoric release-- something he hasn’t had since  _ before.  _

He’s still treading water when Harrington coaxes him over to the bed. Floating as he’s pressed down against the soft comforter. Blinking slow as Harrington  _ cleans him up _ \-- using an old t-shirt, sure, but  _ still--  _ and then slides sideways onto the bed next to him. 

A hand pushes his curls out of his face. Harrington is there, looking at him again, dark eyes a little softer than Billy thinks he’s ever seen them. 

He seems to be waiting for something. When all Billy does is stare right back, eyes half-lidded and heavy, Harrington huffs around a slow smile. 

“I got my rut about a week after-- well,” he shrugs. “Dunno if it’ll be the same for you, but. Shock to the system seemed to work for me.” 

Billy wets his lips. “Shock to the system.” 

“Yeah. Or, well… like a hard reset.” Harrington shrugs. “Helped with the haywire instincts.” 

“Thank it’ll work the same for me?” Billy asks. 

“Dunno,” Harrington admits, and Billy’s struck, a little, by the honesty there. “Could always try again, until it sticks.” 

Billy grunts. “How do you figure it worked  _ this _ time?” 

“Well,” Harrington’s smile is bright. “You don’t look like you’re about to claw out of your own skin, right now. So.” 

“So,” Billy nods. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime.” 

Weirdly, it sounds a bit like a promise. 

And, just like that, with Harrington still watching him, Billy lets his eyes close. Lets himself sink into the lingering lax sensation still thrumming in his limbs. Lets himself, for the first time since the summer of nightmares, relax. Lets Harrington’s steady gaze, always watching, reassure him enough for sleep to curl into his bones. 

It’s only an hour or so later, a throw blanket over him and Steve Harrington in bed next to him thumbing through some sort of comicbook with his nose scrunched up, that Billy wakes with a question on his tongue: 

“Wait, so which alpha did you let fuck  _ you?”  _

Billy takes a needless amount of pleasure out of the way Harrington’s face turns a lovely shade of pink as he  _ finally  _ looks away. 


End file.
